Enchanted
by mochiinvasions
Summary: From their first meeting Canada was entranced by the soft spoken man with spider-silk hair. The other was entranced too. NethCan semi-historical, fourshot, based off 'Enchanted' by Taylor Swift.
1. First Meeting

**Title:** Enchanted  
**Author: **AkaYuki2106  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters/Pairings:** Netherlands/Canada centric, FACE family, other nations mentioned  
**Summary:** From their first meeting Canada was entranced by the soft spoken man with spider-silk hair. The other was entranced too.  
**Warnings: **Boy/boy, historical fiction.  
**Soundtrack:** 'Enchanted' by Taylor Swift  
**Info: **First NethCan fic, I do love this pairing X3 Historical fic set sometime in the past with no particular historical events. Meant to be a oneshot but it got too long so I'm turning it into a two or threeshot, hopefully have it all done by the end of this week. Yay for breaking writer's block. Netherlands' name is Lars de Vries because Lars has been the name I've associated with him since first getting into this couple and de Vries is one of the most popular Dutch surnames (circa 2007).

* * *

Canada hates these places. Vast rooms lighted by soft candles, gentle voices filling the room. England is standing in a corner, wine glass in hand, talking with a tall man with black hair, Austria, he thinks. France is of course surrounded by girls, flirting unashamedly, sweet words falling from his mouth as easily as a waterfall. America too is surrounded by people, talking happily. This is where he belongs; though he claims it is too stuffy in places like this. People are drawn to him like fireflies to a lamp, and Canada knows that although obnoxious he is bright, and people will follow him. He thinks that maybe even England will follow him, old, refined, controlled England, at the whim of his brother, loud, maddening, never thinking. It seems like a wild fantasy and yet, somehow, he can see it. People pass by him; their eyes never looking directly at him but instead seem to go straight through. He wishes he could disappear, just get up and leave, but he knows that England will look for him when the party draws to a close and he will be reprimanded if he is not exactly where he is expected to be. Someone throws a greeting in his direction, and he returns it without thinking. His eyes flicker across the room. There are many nations here, from Spain (he thinks, America knows him better) to England, mostly Europeans though there are a few others. There are their bosses too, kings and queens and prime ministers, and the interactions between them, he notices, are much less intimate than the ones between nations, their actions more controlled than even England's, impossible though it may seem. He sits back in his chair, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. He does not belong here. He wishes now, more than ever, that he could return home. This stuffy room in some corner of London, forced into a pretence of society, a society he doesn't feel right in.

His eyes dance across the room, coming to settle on a tall man whose silky golden hair shimmers in the light. He is talking to someone Canada doesn't recognise, but as he watches the blue eyes look across the room to meet his. Canada lowers his eyes, trying and failing to stem the blush which creeps up his cheeks. "Matthew!" His reverie is broken by the sound of France's voice. The arms drape themselves across his shoulders, and his face is directly by his side, murmuring into his ear, "Loosen up a bit! You look worse than that 'gentleman' over there. Come over and talk for a bit, there are a lot of people who want to meet you." Canada doubts this, but he indulges France anyway, rising as gracefully as possible (he can still feel the eyes watching him and he tries his hardest not to look stupid), and joining France's party. One of the girls looks visibly relieved at his presence, and sets about talking to him in a bright, cheerful voice. He is somewhat overwhelmed by her and is grateful when the man England had previously been talking to comes over and mutters something in her ear, drawing her away. France turns to him and smiles "She's a looker isn't she? Pity she's already with Austria. Still…monogamy is boring. Perhaps I can still entice her to join me, oui?" Canada mutters some affirmation distractedly, eyes searching the room for the blue ones. He meets them quickly, but does not look away this time, instead challenges the man to come over. France follows his line of sight and chuckles beneath his breath. "Who is that?" Canada asks. "Hmm? Oh, him. Lars. Lars de ," he says in response to Canada's mystified stare. "Good luck," France says before drifting off in search of some more girls. Canada watches him leave before turning around. The man, Netherlands as he now knows him to be, finishes his conversation with whoever he was talking to, and begins to move across the room. Canada drops his eyes to the floor, but looks up when a voice speaks in his ear.

"You were watching me."  
"You looked back."  
"You were interesting. People don't normally watch others like that."  
"And now you've talked to me you'll see I'm not very interesting at all."  
"On the contrary, I find you fascinating."  
"You don't even know my name."  
"Do you know mine."  
"Lars de Vries, am I not correct?"  
"Indeed you are. It is nice to make you acquaintance…Matthew."  
"Enchanted."  
"I can see Arthur has brought you up to be a good little boy."  
Canada steps back, blushing, unable to think of a response. Netherlands laughs quietly and he would be lying if he said it didn't send shivers down his spine.  
"I was right."  
"Right?"  
"You are interesting."  
It is Canada's turn to laugh, turning his head away to try and hide his blush. "No-one else thinks so."  
"Then they are stupid. They don't know what they're missing out on."

Canada makes to reply, but just then England calls his name. He wants him to meet someone, and of course will not take no for an answer. Canada apologises, to which Netherlands says it is nothing, and walks off to England. If he is angry he says nothing, and merely introduces the two. Canada pulls on his mask and smiles and talks in a light voice. He can feel Netherlands eyes on his back, and when the other man (Austria or Roderich as he knows now) walks away with his wife (Hungary/Elizabeta) and he turns back to Netherlands his first words are "Do I have something on my coat?"

Netherlands makes no reply, merely takes his hand and draws him to the nearest chair. The conversation flows easily. Canada finds himself speaking without limits, his normal pretences dropped. Netherlands has, he notices, a way of drawing the truth from him before he can even think about it, and the other is equally as eloquent. Before he knows it the evening is drawing to a close, and England is calling to him that they must leave soon. Netherlands calls back to him that their conversation isn't over, and leads him to the balcony. Canada looks up, staring at the stars. "Do you know when you will next be attending one of these events?" Netherlands asks and Canada's eyes slide, as they so often did during the course of the evening, to his face. "Soon I imagine. England is on a quest to culture Alfred and I, and his method is, apparently, forcing me to sit in a stifling room all evening doing nothing and speaking even less, and afterwards reprimanding Alfred for talking too much." Netherlands laughs, and looks out at the grounds. Light spills out from the party, and their forms are silhouetted against the dark grass. England appears at the door, "Matthew! I know Lars here is riveting but the carriage won't wait any longer." Matthew is tempted to say "Then I'll walk home," but England would kill him and he doesn't really know his way around London, so he apologises and follows England to the door. Netherlands follows him, and draws him to a table when England is detained by someone's boss. He scribbles something onto a scrap of paper in his pocket, and presses it into his hand. Canada waits until England's eyes are firmly in a different direction, before opening the note. There is a place, a date, and a time. He looks up in surprise.  
"Will you be able to come?"  
"I can try. He may not let me out."  
"Ask Francis, he'll be more lenient."  
"Will you come?"  
"Of course. Let's go, England looks like he's escaping."  
Canada laughs to himself and follows him to the door, note tightly scrunched up in hand.

"Until next time," Netherlands says.  
"It was enchanting to meet you," Canada replies, for England's sake.  
Netherlands follows them out, waving to Canada as he gets in the carriage and it leaves. A voice calls his name, but he stays for a few seconds, watching it leave, face and voice still in mind.

* * *

In the carriage England is chiding America, telling him that he should learn some manners or something along those lines. France is quiet, his hands occasionally drifting towards some part of England's anatomy, hands which are constantly smacked away (England's ability to multitask never fails to amaze Canada). Canada is staring out the window, his normal tactic of pretending he is alone not needed as his thoughts are completely occupied. The blush still rests on his face, and a face and voice are firmly entrenched in his mind. It was his first true conversation with a different nation that he hadn't spent all his life with or been dragged into against his will, and he is not indifferent to that fact. In fact it is all he can think of, and the things he said and what was said back. He had been treated as an adult, as a fellow nation, and nice as England is it is nice to be seen as equal, not some wild being who needs to be cultured and lectured.

"Canada," England says (it seems to be a theme of his tonight to interrupt him and Netherlands, even in his mind), and nods at the door. Canada looks up and realises he is at the hotel where England has rented a room for him and America, and scrambles out of the carriage, not bothering to be careful. England sighs as he picks himself up and then leaves, giving him instructions to be up on time for some other social gathering the next day. America waves goodbye energetically then drags him up to their room. Once in he tells Canada he'll be back later and leaves, stumbling slightly (how much did he drink?).

Canada sighs and sits down on his bed, flopping his head back. Out loud he asks the room if it believes in love at first sight. Unsurprisingly, there is no answer. He turns over, wondering if it is right or even legal to feel this way. He has never been in love, and yet he imagines it would feel like this. Wonderstruck, blushing whenever they speak, heart racing when they look at you, missing them having talked only 30 minutes ago. He imagines it would hurt like this too, for if, if it is love he feels, then there is no way that he could possibly be loved back. He is nothing, a northern country under the dominion of another who has been cut off, who knows nothing of Europe or her politics, and Netherlands is…he is tall and handsome, and has a nice laugh, and speaks in a low voice and is cultured and educated and far older than him and is so above him that there is no way…

"If…if it is love…would he love me back?" Canada laughs at the question. Of course not, they just met today. And yet…he pulls the scrunched up note out of his pocket. "He gave me a note. He asked when he would see me again. He wants to see me again. So maybe…"

He gets out of the bed, pacing backwards and forwards, troubled mind and troubled face. He walks out to the small balcony and leans on the railing, eyes fixed at the stars. "Maybe you can help me," he whispers. There is no reply, and Canada has to laugh at how silly he is being. "As if the stars could help me." Before he knows it it is two in the morning and someone is knocking at his door. For a second he pretends it is Netherlands, and he would come in and they would talk into the small hours of the morning and he would sleep on America's bed, and in the morning a red-faced Canada would apologize to England for waking up late and America would tease him and France would say philosophically "Our little Matthew is growing up," which would make Canada blush more and Netherlands laugh and…his hand is at the doorknob and he is half convinced by now it is true, but a voice breaks through his dream and it is America's. Of course, it's not Netherlands. He doesn't even know where Canada is staying. He sighs and opens the door, and is almost squashed by a drunken America who stumbles in and passes out on his bed. He closes the door, and lies down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. "Alfred." There is no reply. "Is it strange to love someone you just met?" There is still no reply. And yet, as he drifts off to sleep he half hears some sleepy voice saying "No stranger than loving someone you've know all your life."

* * *

I hope you liked it so far. Unbeta'd I'm afraid as my beta is still at school (half term, y u no match up?), stay tuned for more! Questions, comments, suggestions, critiques, don't be afraid to review!  
Also , I'm so annoyed I missed both Spain and Japan's birthdays, I'll get them next year :'D


	2. First Kiss

**Title:** Enchanted  
**Author: **LetTheWordsFlow  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters/Pairings:** Netherlands/Canada, FACE family, few other cameos  
**Summary:** From their first meeting Canada was entranced by the soft spoken man with spider-silk hair. The other was entranced too. NethCan semi-historical, fourshot, based off 'Enchanted' by Taylor Swift  
**Warnings: **Kissing, drama, deviation from song for plot-development-related purposes.  
**Soundtrack:** 'Enchanted'-Taylor Swift, 'Breathe Me'-Sia and 'Arithmetic'-Brooke Fraser  
**Info: **Chapter two! Sorry for the massive wait, I shall explain myself later~ Enjoy!

* * *

Canada almost doesn't make it to their meeting. It is scheduled for one week away from their first meeting, and it takes Canada two of those seven days to convince himself that Netherlands really does want to see him, and that he is not merely teasing him. Eventually he steels himself up to ask France about it. He knows that he does not have anything scheduled for that day, it is merely a matter of getting out of the house, and while he is still being carried along by some confidence he catches France's arm and asks him quietly. France looks at him for a few seconds, before saying something so quickly in French that Canada, who has been raised bilingual, cannot make it out. He then says to him "Je suis désolée Mathieu, but I cannot say yes or no. Much as I hate to admit it, it is now Arthur calling the shots. Ask him."

He walks away before Canada can ask him what he means, and Canada is left wondering if he could ever be brave enough to ask England. He stands for a moment, pondering France's words, before walking back to his room. He may be under England's control but he still has work to do.

It takes him another 3 days to work up the courage to ask England about the meeting. Despite the man's small stature he has impressive presence and is incredibly strict. Combined with Canada's inherent shyness, he often finds himself reduced to little more than a stuttering mess in front of the man. He is kind, he looks after them, but he can be harsh and sometimes cruel, and Canada can understand his brother's desire to break free. The nervousness gets so bad that America finally snaps and offers to ask England for him, an offer he swiftly turns down. He knows that England will deny his request without even listening to what it contains or who it is to do with, and besides, this is his battle to fight.

He winds up in front of England's study, one hand raised to knock on his door, the other tightly clasped around the note Netherlands gave him, heart dancing in his throat. His hand knocks on the door before he can stop and run away, and he hears England's crisp voice asking "Who is it?"

"Canada," he replies nervously and at England's approval he enters the room. Papers are spread in neat piles across his desk and he looks at Canada with his sharp green eyes, always looking for some flaw to point out, some correction to be made. He is tempted to flee now, but he is here, which is further than he has got before so he takes the plunge and decides to go for it.

"What?" England barks and Canada is intensely surprised he manages to make any noise in reply. Stuttering, shyly, he manages to squeak out that he and Netherlands had planned to meet up to have a walk and maybe go to a café or a gallery, and he thinks he's free that Saturday and "can-I-go-meet-Lars?"

England's reaction is instantaneous, a sudden dam after the rushing river of his words. No.

Canada looks up, anger and disappointment giving him courage. He opens his mouth to ask England why he shouldn't be allowed to go improve his relations with a county, why, although he is under England's rule, he shouldn't be allowed this little freedom, but he is cut off before he can speak. "Even if we are attending no event that day, you still have your studies. I wish for you to make the best of your time here, not socialising with someone like him." It is a flimsy excuse, and both Canada and England know it, and Canada makes to argue back, asking why he shouldn't make the most of his time by visiting one of London's numerous galleries with someone who knows much more than him, but England holds a hand up, silencing him again. Canada recognises the look on his face, and looks down again, gazing at the floor. "Very well," he mutters under his breath.

"You may go," is all England says. Canada turns, and shuffles out of the door. He doesn't look back, nor does he attempt to plead his case again, he merely shuts the door and walks off.

* * *

He doesn't mope, at least not is anyone else's sight. He expresses his disappointment to America dully and buries himself in his books. Friday dawns and he wonders if Netherlands will show up. Friday ends and he wonders if he will be able to warn him he won't be able to go. Saturday dawns and he hopes Netherlands will not bother. It is late Saturday morning when he is lounging in the library that England coms to talk to him for the first time since their meeting in his study. He is so engrossed in his book that he doesn't notice the Brit in the room with him and jumps when he speaks.

"Shouldn't you be going?"

"What…"

"I remember you telling me you had an appointment with Lars today at…" he checks his watch, "twelve. It will take you at least an hour to get to Hyde Park."

Canada looks at him in surprise. "You mean…I can go?"

"You should get going," England says gently. Canada knows he shouldn't but he can't help asking why he changed his mind.

"America told me how nervous you were to ask me, how scared you were. And you didn't protest once, just accepted it. I thought it was…admirable that you should accept my judgement so easily after so much build up. But more than that…times are changing, and I fear we shall not long be like we are now. You were right. You should make the most of your time here."

Canada gets up, carefully puts the book away and looks at England. "Thank you," he says. There is no reply.

* * *

And so it is that he arrives, half an hour late, out of breath and apologies already on his tongue. Netherlands is sitting on a bench, reading a book and when he stands to greet Canada he looks so graceful that his heart aches. Netherlands brushes off his apologies lightly and laughs as Canada gasps out his excuse. "Arthur can be mean like that," he says, amusement colouring his tone, and then looks serious and says, "You were that scared I wouldn't come?"

"Why should you?" Canada asks, blushing, "I'm just me, I'm not important or anything…"

"But you're interesting," Netherlands says, "and for me that is a good enough reason." Canada wonders what could possibly be interesting about him, but before he can ask Netherlands says, "Shall we walk?"

They wander off, and quickly become engrossed in conversation, so much so that Canada scarcely notices his descent from the polite, formal language he adopts around England (and any nations he doesn't know) to the more relaxed language he uses when with his brother or France. It is, as he noticed before, easy to talk to the Dutchman. He doesn't become nervous or trip over words as he does when around England, and he isn't quiet like he is around strangers. It is like talking to a friend, and when they stop outside a café, and debate on whether to go in (Canada has heard good things about it from France, Netherlands maintains that if France likes it, it must be suspicious), he realises that, for himself at least, he could easily apply that term to the man standing besides him. It surprises him, and yet at the same time makes perfect sense.

While in the café, the conversation turns, as it was destined to do, to politics. Canada admits, with a bright red face, that beyond his home and his brother's, he has little knowledge of what is happening in the world. Netherlands gives him a summary, and when they leave Canada promises that next time they meet he will know more. Netherlands laughs and says that he is more than happy to instruct him, which gives Canada the impression that he may not be being completely truthful. Netherlands is asking about him now, his relationship with America and his nervousness around England, and before he can stop himself he tells Netherlands about his troubles with his boisterous brother. Netherlands has plenty of family troubles himself, and the two compare siblings for a bit. Eventually the time comes however when Canada knows he must return home. Netherlands asks if they could meet again soon and Canada says that he can make no promises, but he'll try. They arrange a time and place, and at Canada's mentioning that England will be more likely to let him go if they go to a museum or gallery, they arrange somewhere to visit as well.

And to his surprise, England is much more willing to let him go, eve saying that he does not need to ask permission any more. He reminds Canada subtly that they will be attending another event soon, and that it would be a good idea to ask Netherlands if he would be attending as well. And so over the next week they meet constantly, never running out of things to say. Netherlands, who does not, in his opinion, go to Canada as often as he should ask him endless questions about his land, and Canada, who has never been to the Netherlands, asks him countless questions in return. He finally decides to ask him if he will be going to the young Italian's event, and although he is not obliged to like Canada is, Netherlands says he will anyway, "for your sake."

Saturday morning is heralded by an argument between France and England. Their shouting tears the house apart, and when America escapes into his room to sit with him instead of face their "parents" Canada knows it is bad, worse than their normal arguments which the two have learnt to ignore. The two have been shouting purely in English, but when France reverts to rapid French between shouts, Canada realises with a sickening horror what the argument is about. The voices die down and a door slams. The two look at each other, and carefully leave the room. When they reach the main hall England is looking at the door, chest heaving. "Bloody Frog," he mutters, as if it were a normal argument, and walks straight past them. America of course tries to stop him and ask him what happened, his voice always too loud and echoing through the empty house, but England pushes him off and retreats to his study, locking the door. Canada merely watches them. They spend the rest of the day in awkward silence, neither knowing what to say or do. Finally, in the afternoon, England emerges from his study and tells them that he will be leaving briefly, that they should begin to prepare for the evening, and that if France comes back they must tell him to leave. Canada wonders if he can do that to the man he calls his father.

Luckily, there is no need. Barely half an hour later England returns. He looks serious, and after a brief retreat to his study he comes out to talk to the two. He explains in clipped tones that there is a chance France may never return, that their "family" is falling apart, and that whatever happens they must keep up a brave face. Canada and America will be returning home in a week and for this last week they must pretend that all is well, even if it is not. Finally, he sends them off to get ready. When everyone is prepared and the carriage has arrived, they leave. Canada wonders where France is staying, and hopes he is well. He hopes they see each other tonight, out of England's sight, so that they can talk. He thinks that this talk is long overdue.

* * *

He sees Netherlands almost immediately, but being who he is, the older man realises that he cannot talk now, and waits in the sidelines while he goes through the necessary formalities. When he is finally free to roam he makes a beeline for the Dutchman, unable to see France.

"I thought I was supposed to rescue you from that?" says Netherlands, with a small smile.

Canada, too distracted to feel nervous, looks around desperately. "Yes, but something happened earlier and England won't let me escape anything now. You can bet that soon he will call me over and introduce me to some diplomats or presidents or far away countries. Have you seen Francis?"

"Dare I ask what happened? No, I haven't, I thought he would have arrived with you."

"That's the problem. He didn't and from what Arthur said he won't do it again. I really need to talk to him…do you have any idea where he'd be?"

"Nowhere safe for you to go," Netherlands says, all hints of the smile gone. "Matthew…I know it's hard but…can you forget Francis? Can you forget whatever happened at home? Forget your family and just…enjoy the evening?"

Canada looks at him in surprise. This is what he wanted right? This is why he asked Netherlands to come, so that instead of being wound up and bored stiff he was relaxed, and had someone to waste the hours with?

"I know it's selfish of me but…I just want…I want to talk to you. I want to waste the evening with you. I…I understand you'd be shaken up, and I understand you'd want to talk to Francis but….please…not tonight?"

Canada is silent for a while. It is in his nature to worry, and the matter will always stay in the back of his mind until it is resolved, but he thinks he can do that. "Just…relax? Just…forget everything?"

"Yes…"

"I can try," he says, because it is really all he can do. "It's not in my nature but…I can try."

Netherlands makes an admirable attempt to distract him, and over the course of the evening he finds himself loosening up again. He has not forgotten anything, but he knows he will get no answers from England, and he knows France will not appear tonight (though it does not stop him looking around every so often), but he also knows he needs the distraction. Throughout the evening England drags him away to speak to whoever he must be introduced to, but he is already less awkward. His tongue doesn't flow the way it does around Netherlands, but while he is still perfectly polite, he doesn't stutter or hesitate as he used to, and after one particularly long conversation with someone whose role he has never heard of before, let alone seen or met, England mutters in his ear "I don't know what you're doing but keep doing it. You present the best image when you're confident and polite, and you are making progress."

When he relays this to Netherlands he laughs and says "All the more excuse to spend time together," to which Canada quietly agrees. Eventually England disappears, lost in the crowd of nations, officials, diplomats and rich representatives, America is firmly in conversation with a shy Japan, and Canada and Netherlands can finally talk in peace. Throughout the evening Canada begins to feel more and more sick, eventually sitting down heavily he is so dizzy. Netherlands is instantly worried, and asks if he needs to return home. He shakes his head and manages to tell him that he just needs some fresh air. Netherlands runs over the host and asks in hushed tones if they could go out into the garden for a bit. The Italian agrees happily, and opens the doors wide, letting light spill out onto the moonlit grounds, and declares that they all need the fresh air.

They walk out into the garden and Canada notices how peaceful and silent it is, away from the crowd inside. He looks up at the sky but he can't see any stars. Netherlands makes a noise and it brings his attention back to the man standing near him. He is bending over the tulips, a small smile on his face. Canada tells his heart to stop pounding and walks over to him.

"They're your national flower, aren't they?"

"Yes…It always seems strange when I see them in someone else's garden. They remind me so much of home."

Canada doesn't know how to reply, so he looks at the other flowers, half hidden by shadows. There are roses of course, soft petals quivering in the moonlight, the tulips Netherlands so admires, and countless other flowers, more than he could ever name, stretching over the garden into murky shade. "They're beautiful," he murmurs before he can think, but Netherlands makes no reply. He looks at him in surprise, waiting for his normal quick remark, and wondering what's wrong when none come forward. "Walk with me," Netherlands says, face turned away, and begins to walk away. Canada falters in his step as he tries to catch up, but he follows Netherlands into the shadows. They stop before a white wooden structure, with a small bench on the wall. The carefully crafted latticed sides are covered in white roses and they shimmer under the moonlight, the same moon which weaves shadows into Netherlands' hair and bathes his skin in her soft milkiness. Netherlands walks in and turns to Canada, holding out his hand. Canada takes it hesitantly and allows himself to be pulled under the covered roof, wondering what was happening.

"There's something I wanted to ask you about," Netherlands says hesitantly.

"Yes?" Canada asks, too loud for the soft garden.

Netherlands is silent for a while, and then brings his free hand up to touch Canada's cheek. Canada's heart is racing and his mouth opens slightly. Netherlands' amber eyes are boring into his and Canada feels sure that he can see what he feels, that this is to tell him to stop, now, before he falls too hard. _It's already too late_, he realises with a shock. "Lars…" he says, meaning to tell him now, but Netherland silences him with a shake of his head. The hand which still rests on his cheek moves to brush his lips, and pull his head forward, so their lips are touching.

Canada freezes. He does not know what to do, how to deal with this, but Netherlands' lips are moving against his, quiet murmurs, and unconsciously he begins to move his back, following Netherlands' movements quietly, shyly. The hand which was on his cheek moves to the back of his head, the other letting go of his hand to wrap around his waist to the small of his back, gently pulling him until they are pressed together, closer than he has been to any person before, lips still moving in synchronisation. Canada is as unsure as ever, but he gives into the temptation which has been taunting him for so long, and tangles his hands in the back of Netherlands' golden hair, noting its soft silkiness. He wraps his arms tighter around Netherlands' neck and leans up into the kiss, growing bolder, lips no longer hesitant but forceful, shyness pushed back as he gives into all sorts of temptations. Eventually they break for air, and he half-notices that Netherlands' normally clear eyes and hazy now with something he can't make out, but he doesn't get a chance to find out what, because they are connected by the lips again and Netherlands is pushing him back until he finds the bench. He falls heavily and Netherlands smoothly catches him, letting him down softly before sitting beside him and tangling his hands into his hair. Canada is still catching his breath, but he manages to gasp our Netherlands' name, which stops him in his tracks. The face which was so close to his moves back, to his disappointment, and the hands let go of his hair to fall in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm so sorry, I-"

It is Canada's turn to silence him now, shaking his head against the rush of apologies. "I enjoyed it," he says, without thinking, and when Netherlands is still silent he leans into him, kissing him softly. He begins to form a sentence, but Netherlands' lips are on his, catching the sentence before it can leave his mouth. "Don't speak," he murmurs against his lips, before kissing him again. He stands, pulling Canada with him into the moonlight.

"You looked so beautiful under the moon. I couldn't control myself. From the first time I saw you all those weeks ago I was enchanted by you. I wondered what it would be like to kiss you, how your hair would feel in my hands. I assumed that I would be confined to fantasies, and I thought that if it ever happened I would be controlled…I wouldn't scare you but…I hadn't gambled on how you would look like this. You were so innocent, it didn't seem right to do this to you. And when…when it happened I could tell it was your first kiss. You were cute as ever, no idea what to do but going along anyway. I thought you were humouring me, I know you treasure our friendship, and I had thought that…"

"You thought wrong," Canada interrupts, softly. "You are right though, it was my first…"

Netherlands eyes continue to gaze at the floor, and Canada tilts his head up. He cannot think of what to say so he lets actions speak for him, kissing Netherlands shyly. To his surprise Netherlands's hand fly instantly around his waist, as he kisses him back hungrily, desire plain. Canada wraps his arms around Netherlands's neck again, and this time it is he who leads Netherlands back, this time to the solid wall behind him. They break apart, and Netherlands growly something in Dutch before planting both hands on the wall and leaning in to kiss him again. As their lips lock, moving in motion, and Canada brings a hand up to Netherlands' neck, other finding purchase against the wall, he feels distinctly that someone is in the garden with them. Netherlands moves closer in, and barely hides a moan. Canada mutters "Quiet!" against his lips, but it is too late.

"Matthew," England's accent is unmistakeable, "it is time to go."

Canada knows from England's tone that he will not be able to make excuse like before, and merely gasps for breath as Netherlands leans against his neck, panting slightly. "I'm sorry," Canada mutters, but Netherlands' muffles reply sounds rather like "'S that guy's fault for getting in the way." Canada tells himself not to think of what England could be getting in the way of, and extricates himself from Netherlands' arms. "I'm coming," he calls to England, and then whispers to Netherlands "I love you,"

Netherlands catches his hand, and murmurs "I love you too," kisses him softly then pushes him away gently, saying "Go on, he won't wait forever."

Canada leaves, turning back to smile at him, and Netherlands doesn't miss the flush that lights up his face when he smiles back. When he's out of sight, he touches his lips briefly, and mutters something unintelligible.

It appears England's new role has become that of always getting in the way.

* * *

The whole journey home Canada is distracted, not listening to a word of America's conversation with England as he remembers how Netherlands' lips felt on his. He can almost feel the firm hand at his waist and the small of his back, and cannot control the blush that spreads across his face. Luckily for him that he is rarely noticed, for in the harsh shadows cast by gas lamps that illuminate the streets and the carriage, his blush is well hidden from the prying eyes of his brother. He manages to keep it hidden until they come to England's house. They had been staying at a hotel previously, but England decided to move them to his home in London, (cheaper, he explained), and as he and America now have separate rooms, he is able to stretch out on his bed, sigh, and wonder if Netherlands was telling the truth, if he realised just how much it meant to him. He remembers soft words spoken in his ear and a soft touch on his cheek, and before he can stop it a grin spreads across his face.

_Enchanted_, he thinks, _completely enchanted by him. _

He is completely in love.

* * *

There we go! How did ya like it? I tried, I swear xD Sorry for the wait, I've been busy with school, and when I'm not doing schoolwork I'm editing, and vica versa. However with building work in my classroom I've been spending more time in the IT room which lead to a week of writing, hence why it's done. Argument was inspired by writing in my French lesson, sickness inspired by feeling horrible Wednesday afternoon, kiss was inspired by….well, who doesn't like some shonen-ai?  
Sorry as well for the sudden drama. I'll say it again there will be no historical facts in here. Therefore I won't continue that in this story, as this is NethCan centric with background FACE. May make a FACE-centric fic continuing that story but I won't do it here. Sorry for the change in tone as well, I wrote the kiss first, and then filled in the beginning and finally the end, and the change in NL's eyes. I prefer amber :'D

I'll try and get the next chapter up soon. Twill contain drama and angst!

Anyway, questions, comments, suggestions, critiques, don't be afraid to review!


	3. Distance

**Title:** Enchanted  
**Author: **AkaYuki2106  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters/Pairings:** Netherlands/Canada, (F)ACE-centric + Belgium (Netherlands is only mentioned)  
**Summary:** From their first meeting Canada was entranced by the soft spoken man with spider-silk hair. The other was entranced too.  
**Warnings:** Boy/boy, semi-historical, angst-ish  
**Soundtrack:** 'And Counting' by LIGHTS  
**Info:** Sorry it took so long, see previous chapter. Final chap coming soon, I promise.

* * *

The next day and the next and every day afterwards England has him swept off his feet, with work and trips and people to meet and places to go. The older man deliberately delays delivery of paperwork and comes up with papers for Canada to work on and deal with and deliver and hurry up. He barely has time to think of Netherlands, let alone meet or even write a letter to him. Night is the only respite he has from the endless stream of work to do and it is at night that he thinks of Netherlands. He thinks about his eyes and his smile and how his lips felt and how that worm body felt while it pressed him against the wall, and one night he dreams about what could have happened afterwards and wakes up the next day with a desperate need to change his bed linen. Yet during the day Netherlands is never at the forefront of his mind as he is overcome by names and places. England seems to relish having his two charges in his house with easy access to them, and offloads much of his work onto them. He still seems to have a lot to do though, and Matthew admits with a grudging respect that England works _very_ hard. America constantly shirks his work and asks Canada if he can do it, and while at first he accepts, when he sees America out enjoying the sights of London while he is stuck inside slaving away he starts to refuse. And if England sees a decline in the quality of the work America turns in he makes no comment, except when something _really_ bad is delivered to him, after which Canada will be greeted with a sheet of paper with "Please correct" written on the front and opens it to see his brother's handwriting.

Kept inside, Canada's previous feelings of longing are slowly replaced with guilt and worry. Netherlands must think he hates him or is deliberately keeping his distance, staying away after they were caught by England. He no longer dreams of Netherlands at night, instead worrying about him, whether he hates him, whether he thinks Canada hates him, whether he is waiting for Canada or has moved on. For Canada is certain that he loves Netherlands, as much as he can be certain, and he knows that England is deliberately trying to keep them away from each other. He isn't angry with England for it, indeed it's nice to be watched out for, it's just that he wishes the other would realise that is fully capable of making his own decisions and he has decided that Netherlands is a good thing for him…if he even wants him anymore.

His worry keeps him up at night and his work quality and productivity lessens, and England, seeing him, grants him that rarest of things, a day off. Amidst myriads of complaints from America England looks at him seriously and says "Remember, your ship sails in two days." He mentions nothing specific but his voice and eyes are meaningful, "say goodbye to whoever you need to." Recognising this as permission to talk to Netherlands he nods his thanks and speeds away, before he is hit with an obvious problem. He doesn't know where to meet Netherlands. Most nations would stay at their London embassy, with the smaller nations without embassies staying at the hotel near the conference halls. Being still England's colony (and therefore having most of his nation's affairs organised by the Brit) Canada has never been in a conference hall himself but he knows where they are, and is more comfortable in one of those than in a stranger's ballroom. Therefore the conference hall is his first port of call.

As soon as he arrives his is made aware of the fact that France is currently in attendance, though not in a meeting and therefore mingling in one of the waiting rooms that he knows so well. Upon entering he sees a group of ambassador's wives and heads towards them, grateful for once for his apparent invisibility. However he can see no sign of the tell-tale blonde hair and the flirtatious French, and so leaves dejected. He is walking through the crowds looking for either Netherlands or someone close to him when he sees France, talking to a group of eastern-looking nations. He rushes over to him and waits for a lull in the conversation before plucking at France's sleeve.

"Papa,"  
"Ah, Matthieu," he turns to him, " Matthieu je-"  
"Papa, nous avons besoin de parler."  
« Je sais, Matthieu, mais pas maintenant mon cher, pas maintenant. »  
« Mais papa-«  
« Matthieu -«  
« Papa je vais partir le matin après-demain. »  
« Je sais Matthieu, mais je suis occupé en ce moment. »  
« Papa- »  
« Canada, c'est important. »  
« Mais papa, quand vais-je vous revoir ? »  
« Je ne sais pas Matthieu, je vais écrire, maintenant, allez, c'est important. »

Dismissed, he leaves silently, walking slowly until a female voice calls to him "Ah! Canada!"

He looks up to find himself standing face to face with Belgium, who smiles down at him. The ambassadors she had been in conversation with turn to someone else, and they are left alone. Belgium begins walking to the side and Canada hurries to catch up with her. "Matthew, how have you been?"  
"Busy, listen Margot, can I ask you a question?" He is shocked at his momentary lapse in manners but Belgium doesn't mind.  
"Of course."  
"Where is Lars? I need to speak with him."  
Belgium looks at him worriedly and says "He's out of town, has been since yesterday, dealing with some traders in the north. He'll be back late tomorrow night."  
Canada looks crestfallen and says "But…I leave the morning after tomorrow, early…"  
"Do you want me to take a message to him?"  
"You would! Oh Margot, that would be amazing! I can't-"  
"Matthew, listen to me, Lars isn't – isn't angry or upset. He understands. When you didn't show he asked me to find out what happened. I asked Arthur and he said that you had been overwhelmed by work. You know what he's like, had there been a change of your affections he would have been the first to report it to us to me so….I told Lars – and he understands.  
You don't have to worry about him changing his mind. He'll chase after a pretty skirt or a handsome face but only if he knows he hasn't a hope of going steady with someone. He still holds hope with you. Do you hold hope with him?"

The question takes him unawares and he mutters "I still want him if that's what you mean."  
She smiles. "That's good to hear. About that message…"  
"Should I write it here and give it to you?"  
"I'm afraid not, I've got meetings all afternoon and I won't be free till very late. Are you running errands?"  
"No, Arthur saw I'd been working too hard and gave me a day off. He wants me home by seven."  
She shakes her head. "I'll be mid-meeting then. Send it to the embassy tomorrow."

He nods. "Thank you again."

She smiles and shakes her head, but then a clock chimes and she is swept off with the crowd filing into their meetings, the future of the world at their fingertips, and he is left alone in the hall. He exits silently. He still has a few hours left and instead of returning home he spends the time in the park, eyes scrunched closed as he thinks about what to write. At 6:30 precisely he calls a cab and travels home, letter formulated in his head. He greets England and America, answers America's questions with a few lazy replies, eats quickly, and having made his excuses retires to his desk to write.

The next morning he looks at the small change left in his pocket and when the newspaper boy arrives he slips him the note with one coin to take it to the embassy and another to make sure it is delivered to Belgium, knowing how much ambassadors liked getting their hands on any bits of paper that looked unofficial, even if they were just love notes. ("Anything to get ahead of anyone else" he remembers England telling him). And then he is swept up in his haste to make sure everything is done, all important papers are checked and signed, all debts are paid off and all clothes packed until the room he shares with America is as empty and emotionless as when they first arrived. That night he collapses into bed, exhausted and for the first night in a while he sleeps soundly.

The next morning they are up bright and early to catch their ship and England looks more than a little dewy-eyed as he waves goodbye, promising in a rare moment of emotion that he will visit them as soon as he can. They look at each other in mock horror and then they are all laughing. America looks the very picture of youth and freedom, blonde hair ruffling in the wind and eyes are clear and a smile as wide as the bright blue sky on his face. Besides him England looks pale and worn, but the fresh sea breeze is bringing a touch of colour to his face and his eyes are unworried for the first time in a long time. Belgium is there to say goodbye but Netherlands is not and neither, he realises with a pang, is France. He thinks back to what England said, but then Belgium is calling out a final goodbye and England is giving them a final embrace and then he pushes them both on the ship, waving goodbye as it starts to sail off. They remain on deck until the figures of their family and friends are out of sight and then America says "Just us now, huh?"  
"Yeah," he replies.  
"I'll miss them. They were crazy but I'll miss them."  
"Me too…"  
"Don't worry. You'll see him again."

Canada turns to ask him what he means but he is already off to check on their cabin, and after a moment Canada joins him.

Time passes slowly at first but eventually hours become days and days become weeks and before he knows it he is saying goodbye to America in the port at Boston and barely a breath later it seems he is back in his own wet, wild country, stepping into his own empty house.

Normally he feels a sense of completion when he finally gets home after a long time spent away, but this time he still feels empty. He has his freedom here, his own money and his own people and he can go out when he feels like it, and he has friends and though he has work he can do it at his own pace but despite all that he is lacking one very, very important thing. He doesn't have Netherlands.

* * *

Translation of conversation:  
"Papa"  
"Ah, Matthew...Matthew, I-"  
"Papa we need to talk."  
"I know Matthew but not now, dear, not now."  
"But papa-"  
"Matthew-"  
"Papa I leave the morning after tomorrow."  
"I know Matthew but I'm busy at the moment."  
"Papa-"  
"Matthew, this is important."  
"But papa when will I see you again?"  
"I don't know Matthew, I'll write, now go, this is important."

* * *

Next chapter, finally! I have most of the next chapter written so don't worry about that :)

Thanks Dem for beta as always adfghs X333

Questions, comments, suggestions or critiques? Drop me a review?


	4. Together Again

**Title:** Enchanted  
**Author: **AkaYuki2106  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters/Pairings:** Netherlands/Canada with England and Belgium.  
**Summary:** From their first meeting Canada was entranced by the soft spoken man with spider-silk hair. The other was entranced too.  
**Warnings:** Kissing and angst.  
**Soundtrack:** 'And Counting' by LIGHTS (again)  
**Info:** Glad to see you at the finish line dear reader, happy V-day  
**Info:**

XxxX

His eyes open and he drags air into his lungs, the customary stuffiness as normal as the crisp air of the outside world. His room is dim and he keeps it so, as his eyes recoil from light now and the brightness gives him a headache. The world seems fuzzy and colourless now, empty to him. His friends are as bright and funny as ever, but being with them is a long, drawn-out process where he makes his excuses to leave earlier than normal because he can't face being with them for too long, for fear that clarity will return and that time might fade from his mind.

For the only things left to him that is sharp, shocking in their clarity and contrast are the weeks he spent in London all those months ago, replayed again and again in full Technicolor and dazzling him when all other colours have faded from the world around him.

Hazy eyes fall on a letter, scanning it slowly and wracking his brain as he tries to remember what day it is. Date remember he tries to recall some sense of urgency as he remember that England will be visiting for two weeks starting today and he has to pick him up from the harbour in two hours, but all he can stir is a vague sense of worry about whether he has any clean clothes. He is well dressed and polite for official occasions, but when all he has to do is stay at home he sleeps and wakes in the same clothes until he can no longer stand it and finally changes, disgusted at his own dishevelled state.

Rows of clothes appear before him, waiting for him to choose on. Selecting something that looks vaguely appropriate he falls out of the house, and makes his way to where he is meeting England. As the blonde man steps off the boat he can feel some sort of colour returning to his life, the greyness fading as he centres on England and raises a laconic hand to greet him, but the colourlessness is still there is his peripheral vision, and the world seems fuzzy as he focuses on something that's not England. As he makes his way off the ship and Canada steps forward to embrace him in greeting the world seems to be moving much too quickly and he realises with a jolt that with England's arrival so comes the arrival of the real world, of colour and focus and a life lived at a normal pace and his previous laziness already seems a distant memory. England is by no means Netherlands but he is one step closer to him and because of that, or perhaps simply because he is England, the world seems so much realer now, and that distant week so much closer.

XxxX

England is an easy guest to have. He is low-maintenance and as long as Canada keeps his mess in his own room he does not complain, merely helps Canada as he cleans the rest of the house with an apology on his lips. England's presence alone is enough to pick him up again and he starts to pay attention to how he looks and the quality of his work, and the disorganised rut that he had driven himself into seems to disappear as everything starts to make sense again. The world runs at a normal pace and he can see colours again and his eyes are clear.

The first week passes by in a blur and its exactly one week post arrival that England announces the reason for his visit. He has once again drawn the lot to host the World meeting and as is customary for nations who have commonwealths or empires he has delegated hosting duties to one of the countries under his control, in this case Canada, and promptly came himself to oversee organisation. Canada has no problem with that, sure that the responsibility would be too much for him.

And the England announces, in the lightest of tones, that one of his associates is hosting another ball for the various ambassadors and nations and that one of the attendants would be…Netherlands.

XxxX

Canada checks himself in the mirror and then checks again. England calls out to him from downstairs and he hurries down, looking at England for confirmation. He nods and mutters under his breathe "I'm granting you free leave to do as you wish tonight. If you don't leave with me, well…well just come back in the morning."

Canada flushes at the insinuation but nods his thanks anyway as they make their way to the home of the host. His stomach is a-flutter with butterflies and he swallows nervously as they enter the ballroom, looking around for Netherlands. England pulls him over to a group of nations and seeing Belgium, points him in her direction. When he greets her she says little and simply points to the patio outside, before whispering in his ear "he still has hope"

He smiles at her and nods at some others before walking outside quickly, already sick of the stuffy air inside the ballroom. He sees Netherlands' shadow silhouetted against the grass as it is illuminated by the lights from the party and is reminded of that day all those months ago.

"Lars," he finally says, quietly.

The other makes no sign that he's heard him, and just as he is about to call his name again he finally says "I got your letter."  
"That's good," he says, "Did you…I'm sorry I couldn't meet you…"  
"It's okay. I understand. I'm at fault myself, I hid behind Margot. Perhaps I should have been there to see you go, but I wasn't sure Arthur would let us."  
"He's given me free reign tonight. He won't interrupt us…I can go home when I want."

Netherlands turns and Canada's breath is taken away as he is reminded again how stunning the other man really is.

"Are you hoping to do something that could be interrupted?"  
"If you want to…"  
"It's been four months. I've never wanted anything more."  
"Four months and there was never anyone else for you?"  
"How could I, after reading that?"

They are walking towards each other now, already reaching out, but he has to be sure, he has to make sure Netherlands knows he is sure.

"Nor for me. I could only think of you."  
"Every night."  
"And every day since I got home. Those weeks occupied my every thought, waking and sleeping."

Closer, closer, and he has to be sure.

"If I've ever loved anyone, I love you."  
"Me too Matthew, me too."

Closer, closer and now he is in Netherlands' arms and he is reaching out to cup his face and the other's lips are so close to his and his breath is fanning across his face and Netherlands looks so hopeful, so desperate.

"Lars…" he breathes out, but his words are stopped in his mouth by Netherlands' kiss. His lips are soft and as sweet as he remembered, and his arms feel just right as they wrap around his waist, pulling him in tight. He winds his other arm tight around the other's neck and sighs happily against his lips as he feels Netherlands push him back until they are leaning against the side of the balcony, out of sight of the wide, illuminated windows, and all he can feel is Netherlands' body against his. If they leave the party quickly and go home together let it be all the sweeter, and if they are the talk of the town then why should they care? If he doesn't go home the next morning but the newspaper boy is sent to tell England that he was caught up, does it matter what England thinks? If he is simply taking advantage of the fact that he has Netherlands all to himself for a few days, is he so wrong? Distance and time are long and painful but their proximity is a catharsis and if the world feels real again what's so bad about that?

XxxX

The distance _is_ hard and the time _is_ long but it's better, it's easier now that they know they have each other. Even though it takes weeks for them to see each other, letters can be sent, and as time progresses so does the technology and soon it seems, the journey takes mere days, and sooner still he can call Netherlands' and hear his voice, disembodied and soon, soon he can open his laptop and see Netherlands' face in front of his, smiling tiredly and laughing at his anecdotes about his day, and it takes only hours for them to fly to each other's homes.

Because despite all of technology's advances, despite email and webcamming and calls and texts, there is nothing that beats seeing Netherlands' face in front of his and kissing his lips and smiling against his skin. And those moments make the waiting time all the more worthwhile.

_I was enchanted to meet you…._

XxxX

Finished. Finally. Happy Valentine's day. Wanted to finish this today as I first posted this Valentine's 20122. Sorry it took so long to finish.


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